


Like Raindrops in a Teacup

by philippcarlyle



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Charity and Phin are bff, F/F, Fluff, I Don't Know Where This Is Going, Idiots in Love, Lettie and Phin are best friends, M/M, Phineas is not married, Tattoo Artist!Phil, and Phil has issues, another cliché au by me, enjoy the ride, flower shop owner!Phineas, get ready for cute banter, other oddities will show up later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philippcarlyle/pseuds/philippcarlyle
Summary: "[...]  He nearly knocks over a vase of lilies, but catches it at the last second. In the entrance stands a young man. He is illuminated by the midday sun, and even though P.T. only sees a shadowed profile, it takes his breath away."or: the Flowershop AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome!
> 
> The cliché Flower Shop AU every fandom needs/wants/gets.
> 
> This work is beta'ed by the most amazing @SilverLynxx! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 1

It’s 10 am and the sun shines brighter than the whole last week. People are out in the streets, shopping or on their way to work. Some stop for a coffee or a quick breakfast. That’s where P.T. is right now, leaning on one of the tables and chattings with the bakery’s owner. 

“I heard they’re opening the tattoo parlour again,” Lettie tells her favourite  customer with an excited smile. Lettie knew something about almost everyone in town, and as her shop assistant, the lovely young Anne, wasn’t one for gossip, Lettie told it P.T instead.

“Really? I thought they were turning it into a shoe store,” P.T. answers. Lettie shakes her head.

“No, that was the old plan. But I heard there’s this guy, some kind of relative of Chris’, who’ll take over.”

“Who’s Chris?”

“He was the tattoo artist! Phineas, do you ever listen to me?” Lettie laughs, before she leaves him alone to serve a new customer. Of course P.T. listened to Lettie, but unimportant information got lost over time. He never had anything in common with the silent blonde, who managed the store next to his; they had greeted each other politely, but P.T. had never bothered to learn the man’s name.

He finishes his cappuccino and waves to Lettie on his way out. It’s only a few minutes’ walk until he arrives at his shop. He smiles when he reaches its front and unlocks the large windowed doors. The shop is all white and soft colours, and smells fresh and sweet. He turns on the fairy lights that surround the sign above the front doors that reads “Barnum’s Blossoms”.

P.T. sorts through his back room, and then the small exterior space outfront where he sets up his flowers. He checks which plants to water, and puts some closer to the sunlight. After that he gets to hist lists of orders: one bouquet for a birthday, two for a wedding anniversary. As the anniversary bouquets are already finished, P.T. figures he can do the other one now, when there were usually only a few  customers. He switches the small plate in the window to “Open”.

As expected, no  customers so far. P.T. hums along to the soft tunes from the little radio in the corner, and binds a bunch of flowers carefully together. He walks off to get a vase, now more singing than humming. It was a habit he adopte from Lettie, who would constantly sing.

The wind chimes go off when P.T. places the bouquet safely behind the counter. He leans forward to see an attractive blonde woman coming in, and smiles brightly. A crown made of real  daisies sits on top of her hair. She smiles just as brilliantly back and takes off her sunglasses.

“Good morning, Phineas!”

“Hey, Charity. Did you get the-“

“Of course, of course,” she dismisses him, and lifts the large box she has with her onto the counter - filled with seeds, bulbs and some  more  things more. P.T. claps his hands together in excitement and they get to work. 

P.T. prided himself on growing flowers and plants that were not found simply anywhere. It’s what kept the store going, really. The city had two flower shops; his, and one on the other end of town. People with daily, simple requests for flowers didn’t usually come to P.T. The only ‘ordinary’ flowers P.T. allowed inat his store were roses. Except for that, his shop was a crazy jungle of tongue-twisters and exotic blossoms in a variety of shapes and colours.

“Did Lettie tell you that the tattoo parlour’ll open again?”

“No! I haven’t talked to her yet. I came straight here because I knew you wanted to get onto these.”

“True. Well, she told me.”

“Interesting, I hope they’re more talkative than the last one.” P.T. says with a shrug. He only liked talkative people, who shared his attitude. If the new one was some hooligan, or worse, an arrogant prick, P.T. wouldn’t mind him not being all chit-chat. He continues to plant the seeds, while Charity takes his place behind the counter to welcome  customers . Three hours and only one  customer later, P.T. takes it upon himself to fetch them lunch. 

He comes back with pizza – sue him. Charity just laughs because they always get pizza when the weather’s good; the simple reason being P.T. gets lost admiring the ‘loveliest day ever’ and ends up far away from most of the food places in the city centre. So he gets pizza. Charity doesn’t complain.

“Did you at least got some variety?” She quips, and makes some room on one of their work-tables. P.T. rolls his eyes;, naturally he did. He unpacks a pizza for them to share, along with a  Caesar  salad and some spinach pizza rolls. Charity nods her approval and gets them some drinks.

P.T. forgets to flip the plate to “Lunch break – be back in 5”.

“Was that the door?” Charity asks as she tries to pick at some spinach from between her teeth with P.T.’s highly amused guidance. Alerted, P.T. tilts his head. There were footsteps. 

“I’ll handle it, you can enjoy the break,” he grins, jogging into the front room of the shop. He nearly knocks over a vase of lilies, but catches it at the last second. In the entrance stands a young man. He is illuminated by the midday sun, and even though P.T. only sees a shadowed profile, it takes his breath away. Adding to that, thei client is admiring P.T.’s current pride and joy: a nearly 10-foot tall firecracker vine. P.T. chose this shop initially to grow bigger plants too – he doesn’t regret it. The stems let some sunlight flood inside the shop, and its tubular flowers bow as if raining down on the man. When the door closes, some red-yellow hued blossoms tumble down onto the man’s hair.

P.T. is mesmerized when the man finally turns away to move further into the shop. With the shadows not as heavy this time around, P.T. registers arms covered in tattoos. And neck. And one hand. But most prominently, nearly all of the tattoos were flowers. P.T. might as well just die now. Then the man notices him; now P.T. is sure he’s  dead  already. What an angel. Piercing blue eyes find his and a small smile appears on the stranger’s face. 

P.T. forces himself to look away and steps in front of the counter, but not any closer. Slowly, a grin spreads on his face. This sole human being could be the one, P.T. dared to say, that was prettier than his flowers. 

“You got some firecracker there,” he smirks. The younger man comes closer and raises an eyebrow in confusion.

“Sorry, did you just call me a firecracker?” he asks bewildered. P.T. can hear the poorly hidden amusement.

“No, you got some – ah, wait.” P.T. reaches up to carefully remove the small blossoms  from his hair, and shows them to the shorter man. Now that he stands closer, P.T. notices just how short he was. Adorable.

“Oh, I – thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m Phineas.” P.T. introduces himself, and offers the hand that doesn’t still hold the flowers. He usually introduced himself as P.T. Barnum or just Barnum, referring to his shop’s name. Hm.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Philip.”

“You are adorable.” Oops. Philip shoots him a questioning look and P.T. relies on his Cheshire grin to lighten the mood. It works, as Philip doesn’t seem too offended.

“I’m not adorable. I have tattoos and piercings.” P.T. bites his tongue to keep his grin from splitting his whole face.  _ Adorable _ .

“Sure. How can I help you, oh, intimidating Philip?” he asks, and drops the blossoms onto the counter behind him. Philip watches his movements and takes his time to formulate an answer. P.T. takes this time to get a closer look. The man really knew how to present himself. His eyes alone were enchanting, but an eyebrow piercing made sure, your gaze really stayed there. If you let it wander regardless, you didn’t regret it either. P.T. can’t remember the last time he thought of someone as downright stunning. Charity liked to say he would be married to his firecracker vine if he could; now, he’d like to be married to this firecracker instead.

“I- stop looking at me like that.”  The younger man crosses his arms – strong, tanned, flower- tattoo covered arms. Not helpful. P.T. also doesn’t miss the slightly tinted cheeks. A-dor-able.

“I need some flowers for reference. Oh, I should have said that first, I’m your new shop-neighbour.”

“Good to know. What do you need specifically?” P.T. grins. 

“Do you have fuchsia? I need, oh, what’s it called, ‘glowing lilac’?”

“Sounds right, and I should know. Follow me, Philip.”

Philip does so and they cross the room to a small section with all kinds of red and pink flora. P.T. passes them and gets a small pot with delicate flowers, pastel and brilliant lilac and extraordinarily shaped. He shows them to the younger man with a sly grin.

“Do you know what these stand for?”

“Eh, no? A  customer wants them as a tattoo, so...” Philip responds, but P.T. hears the curiosity in his voice. Philip inspects the flowers; “I’ll take three.”

“Hmhm.”  P.T. takes them over to the counter and gets three flowers ready to change ownership. He gets a sticky note from beneath the desk and writes a quick message. Hidden from Philip’s piercing gaze, he slips it in between the petals.

“How much do I owe you?”  Philip asks and carefully takes the wrapped up flowers. P.T. wishes he had handed them to him and not just left them on the counter. He needs to get his hands on these arms – er, tattoos. Because of the flowers. That’s it.

“Take them as a ‘welcome to the city’ gift. But I wouldn’t turn down a coffee some day.”

Philip blushes. Adorable. A crooked smile follows and the younger man nods. He extends his hand that’s not already holding the flowers. “It’d be my pleasure, Phin.”

“Phin?” P.T. asks and firmly shakes the offered hand.  


“Yeah, it suits you. Don’t you think?” Philip clarifies cheekily. P.T. likes that look on him, so he shrugs. Only his closest friends called him Phin, and even that wasn’t a regularity.

“Fine by me,” He swallows the words he’d like to add. Philip nods with a smile and makes to leave. At the door he looks back again and P.T. catches himself staring a bit too obviously. He beams at the younger man, and when he winks Philip vanishes, laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again beta'ed by the lovely @SilverLynxx <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! (and i love your comments and kudos)

Chapter 2

Philip rummages through the back of his closed shop. He’d been motivated to start his business the last few weeks, but today he is exceptionally high-spirited. It has nothing to do with the encounter he had earlier today, he tells himself. The grin on his face betrays his stubborn mind.

The shop is filled with boxes; pictures yet to hang on the walls, calendars yet to place behind the counter, tattoo machines yet to set up. At least his sleek black stereo system is hooked up, and Philip chooses some happy tunes to carry on with his work. He’d set a deadline for tomorrow evening, so everything was ready for opening the shop in the following days. It’s a happy accident that he actually has a customer already – he’d met the guy on an errand run.

“Are you the new tattoo artist? Looking good,” he’d started the conversation, nearly making Philip drop his yoghurt. A guy covered in tattoos with long hair had stood next to him. “Constantine, hi. I might be interested in your services.” The man smiled, and it had taken Philip a moment to take the offered hand and reciprocate the smile. So they talked. And bought more yoghurt.

Philip takes the flowers and places them on the still empty counter. A faint smell rises from them and Philip turns the pot around a bit . A glimpse of something piques his interest. It’s well hidden between the flowers’ stems, yet it is undeniably there. With care, Philip gets the paper’s edge and frees it from its floral cage.

_Fuchsia_ – _confiding love, trust  
Colour _ – _elegance, grace, youth_

Philip traces the small, neat handwriting with his thumb. The flower shop owner, Phineas, had asked him whether he knew the flower’s meanings; well, now he did. Curious, he turns the note around – and gets rewarded. He lifts it closer to his face when he tries to read the even tinier words. How did he not notice the man writing something _and_ hiding it in between the Glowing Lilac?

_Exquisite and lovely like you_

“What the– I am _not_ lovely,” Philip mutters, but catches himself grinning regardless. He gets the feeling he should definitely take up that coffee request, and soon. With a sudden giddy energy, Philip completes his tasks at the shop. He sets up everything he can so far, turns the music louder, and opens the windows to let in some fresh air. Hours fly by, filled by cleaning and rearranging and occasionally some singing and dancing.

Philip wouldn’t say he was reserved, but the behaviour he was displaying right now wasn’t exactly typical either – but he can’t bring himself to care when he places the delicate plants on the windowsill. Yes, he may have carried them around while he tidied, so what?

Within the last few minutes the room had become gradually darker. Philip switches on the table lamp and leans against the counter, content as he perceives his surroundings. The room where the tattooing itself would happen is all set up, and the open space in front of it is not only clean and minimalistic, but covered in photos and drawings, with  three large sofas for his customers to sit. No carpets, no magazines. Philip had considered putting out some reading material regarding tattoo trends and health care and the like, but ultimately decided against it. He provided all the information needed anyways.

He rubs his temple and catches sight of the clock, hung up high on the otherwise plain wall. Its silence unsettles Philip. 7pm. He could finish up for today and deal with the final preparations tomorrow. Fetching his jacket, Philip’s mind already wanders to his sketchbook. He wants to take his time to create the design for his customer - Constantine - but that doesn't mean he can't play around with the motif at home as well.

When home, he doesn’t get creative with the beautiful flowers; mainly because ‘home’ doesn’t feel particularly homey – yet. The flat is nice enough. Philip’s decorated it with photos of his old friends, and he’s already found a place for his boots, but it’s not quite right – too foreign, too new. Philip, despite being a fan of order and regularity, liked his home a bit messy, a bit dusty, a bit warm and colourful.

When he drops his phone onto the black desk, a photo he’d taken of the Glowing Lilacs lights up. Philip wasn’t a professional photographer, but his snaps were decent enough to draw inspiration from the picture. He didn’t want to move the flowers too much. They remained in the shop, securely behind locked doors.

‘Exquisite and lovely like you’

The words echo inside Philip’s head, bouncing back and forth and dangerously grazing a part of himself he kept closed. The part is carefully unlabeled, dusty and with signs of corrosion. It only ever got acknowledged when Philip thought back to his hometown.

Determined, he draws his chair back and gets comfortable at his desk. He had beautiful flowers and a quiet evening to spend however he wanted. He selects a relaxing alternative rock playlist and switches on the desk lamp. Without hesitation, he takes up some fine liners. No need for pencils, he knows what he wants to draw. Lonesome little lines slowly connect and, along with the strokes, the picture becomes certain and bold.

Philip liked to keep his designs, sketches, and just-for-fun doodles in portfolios. They occupy a shelf next to his desk. Philip had moved houses four times in his life so far, and his work always – always – took up some space close to his working area – a desk at the window.

“Who are you, Phineas?” Philip mutters to himself. The warm light makes the still damp ink shimmer. His first drawing abandoned – some abstract version of the extraordinary fuchsia – it’s quickly replaced by another. Philip drops his pen and looks at what he’s created. It’s the sign that embellishes the flower shop next door. The temptation to add the shops doors is there, but Philip resists. If he draws the front of the shop, what would follow would be sheet after sheet filled with drawings of the tantalizing owner. Philip gets up abruptly. He makes a cup of tea, watches some television, relaxes. He’s tempted to pick up the phone. He should call her.

It’s 1am when he finally grabs the phone.

“Philip, are you alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s fine. Are you sitting down? Have you got a glass of water?”

“Yeah, well, no water. But I’m comfortable.”

“That’s good too. Okay, what’s on your mind?”

“You know I moved and you said you’d recommend me a new...therapist.”

“Yes, I emailed you a list, including the two I thought would be best for you,” comes the surprised response. Philip nearly hangs up. He had gotten the email, of course. And deleted it.

“Can I just. Uhm. Sorry, I like talking to you. I’m comfortable with you,” Philip forces out. It’s an admission that shouldn’t be hard, but feels like chewing stones.

“Of course you can talk to me, Philip. It would just be good if you also had someone right there for you, you know – in person. But you can always call me. Do you feel better yet?”

They haven’t even addressed the topic that makes Philip’s heart heavy and shortens his breath. Still, he recognizes the calming effect the psychologist – his ex-therapist – has on him.

“Yes, thank you. I got flowers today.” Not really.

“Oh? That’s nice, Philip. Did you like the person you received them from?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Definitely.

“That’s good. Philip, it’s okay to meet people. We talked about that, remember?”

“Yeah, I do. But I’m a–  I don’t know. Maybe they were just being nice.” I’m afraid.

“Take your time. If you don’t want to do anything, that’s okay. But if you want to, I say go for it.”

His hand that holds the phone trembles. He takes a deep breath and releases it with a shudder. Warm brown eyes light up his mind, a hand in his hair, the silky voice.

“Thanks, Ms Lind,” Philip murmurs. He is nowhere near feeling good or having a solution – but the anchor pulling him down feels smaller. He doesn’t feel like he’s drowning for now.

“You aren’t my client anymore, Philip. At least, not officially,” he hears a soft laugh. “You can call me Jenny, if you want to.”

“Oh.” Oh. That’s strange. “I think I’ll stick to Ms Lind, sorry.”

“That’s fine, Philip. Call me, if you need something. I’m going to resend that mail. Good night.”

“Night.”

She hangs up. Philip wonders how well this woman knew him. He hadn’t mentioned the mail, he hadn’t said their call was over. Yet, here he was, perfectly assembled. Or as well as he could be, at least.

Maybe now he could find some rest.

**Author's Note:**

> tbc


End file.
